


His Star, Not His Flame

by caviarandqueen



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Coming of Age, Crossdressing, First Kiss, Harems, M/M, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29044713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caviarandqueen/pseuds/caviarandqueen
Summary: Lark is a slave, destined to live the rest of his life wandering around the desert, trying to survive. Boru is the king of all Avaria. He has it all--a beautiful wife, power, riches, fame. He wants for nothing. Well, almost nothing."I want the boy."The words came as a shock to the tent, and suddenly all eyes were on Lark."Surely not, Your Greatness. There are other boys,Avarianboys..." The caravan master protested.The king inclined his head to one side, his eyes suddenly dark. "I can pay for him. Or I can take him from you. The choice is yours."
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. The Desert

**Author's Note:**

> Cast of Characters
> 
> Lark: A beautiful eighteen-year-old who, until recently, spent most of his life living as a slave in a travelling caravan. He got his nickname from his gorgeous singing voice. He's a fantasy version of Freddie Mercury, of course!
> 
> Boru: The tall, star-loving, recently widowed king of Avaria. His curly hair and sheer height make him stand out. Brian May, Brian May!
> 
> Rogelio: A loyal, royal bodyguard, never seen without his two knives. He can't see very well, which accounts for his squinting. Roger Taylor, everybody!
> 
> Iago: The eunuch of the royal harem. He's very protective of Lark, because it's his job to watch over and protect Lark. My fantasy take on Mr John Deacon.
> 
> Afzal: An original character, Afzal is the caravan master, a man who owns slaves and provides them with food and a roof over their heads.
> 
> Dubhán: Afzal's right-hand man. He tries to assert "dominance" over the younger boys in the caravan, which lead to an incident one night involving Lark. The Paul Prenter of this story.
> 
> Pratik: Another original character. An older boy in the caravan, and a bully. He's a prat, hence his name.

The heat was blistering, the sun searing hot. But every day was hot, Lark knew by now.

And the sun hadn't risen to its full height yet. Just a few hours, and then--

"Hey, Songbird!"

That was all the warning Lark got before he was shoved roughly to the ground, sand stinging his eyes and crunching between his teeth. He stood up, only to be met with another shove.

"Quit it, Pratik!" Lark sat up, spitting out sand, staring the older boy in the face. "If Afzal finds out, you'll be banished!"

"I'm not afraid of the caravan master!" Pratik gloated, turning his back on Lark. "Not like you!" He called over his shoulder, as he walked back to the watering hole where the caravan tents were pitched.

Lark got up and brushed himself off, walking back towards the nearby oasis. He desperately wanted a bath, but the Boys' Wash Day was three days away. The men and older boys got to bathe whenever they wanted.

Lark sat in the shade of a tree, thinking as he pulled back his long black hair. He was-- well, let's see. He thought a little harder, as if trying to clear sand from his very brain. Yes, that's right. He would be nineteen this autumn moon, a year outside of the boys' age range, at least here in Avaria. Back home, he'd been considered a man for eleven years now.

Home. Lark barely remembered the place. All he knew was sand and sun and fighting to live. Caravan life wasn't easy, but it was better than the alternatives-- pressed into the army, or having to sell everything just to eat, or starving to death. He tipped his head, letting himself rest a little more. Sleep was hard to come by, especially when the caravan stopped in big cities. Then all the men and the older boys had to work, putting themselves out there just to try and knock a few coins off their debt. If they did get lucky, they took in a rich patron for the night, and none of the younger boys got any sleep, with the all noise that was made the whole night long.

Lark shuddered to think about it. He was glad to still be considered a boy then, here-- all he had to do was look pretty, try to entice people to just _take a look_ at the caravan's offerings. Not just men; Afzal owned some women, but they travelled in a separate company, went to different cities, didn't bring in quite so much as the men did. But it wasn't all people-- Afzal had wares from far away places, spices, jewels, furs, and carpets. It wasn't that Afzal was a bad man that made Lark fear him, on the contrary, he was one of the better caravan masters. It was Dubhán, Afzal's right-hand-man, whom Lark feared.

Dubhán was a man from an island far from the Northern Countries, and his accent and pale skin stood out in stark contrast to the darker skin of the people of Avaria. Maybe that was why...what had happened...had, well, happened. Lark looked at his own skin. Even spending most of his days out in the hot sun, he was still paler than any of the native Avarians. Maybe that was what had attracted Dubhán's attention. A young, pale foreign boy, who spoke with a slight lisp and a definite accent. Mainly, Lark thought, because he hadn't been claimed. Not like the other boys, who all wore the blue bead earring showing that they had an established lover in their caravan's home city. Lark had stood out like a sore thumb to the older man. That still frightened him, just a bit.

He closed his eyes again. What he would give to get out of this place...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it, what could be changed, what you want to see more or less of!


	2. The Bargain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are appreciated!

Boru paced the floor of the throne room, agitated. Ina, his late wife, bless her soul, had always advised him to go to the capital, because that had helped in the past. Just looking at what he owned had been enough to "fix" his moods, in the past. But this...this was different. This was something much deeper than just a passing bout of his usual melancholy.

He sighed and called down the hall: "Rogelio!"

A blond-haired servant came running into the room, tripping over his own feet. It was difficult to see over the great big ruff he wore, and the length of his hair didn't help either. He bowed, nearly falling over himself again. "You called, Your Greatness?" The servant straightened.

Boru stood still for the first time in ten minutes. "We're going to the city. I will need my Lady for the trip."

"Yes, Your Greatness." Rogelio bowed and disappeared.

\- - - 

Riding his horse certainly helped raise the king's spirits. They lifted a little more once he entered the city gate. He rode to the centre of the city, the only area large enough for more than one caravan to set up shop. Boru dismounted, tied Lady's reins to a nearby hitch-post, and made his way toward one of the caravans' tents. Rogelio followed close behind, two of his favourite knives at his hips.

Everyone in every caravan was in their respective tent, with the exception of the caravan masters and their right-hand men, who stood outside, waiting for the king. The square was deadly silent-- indeed, the whole city seemed to be holding its breath. The only sounds were the soft _clinks_ emanating from the king's silver necklace and his sheathed sword knocking against his leg. Boru walked up to Afzal's tent, where two boys were already parting the chiffon outer curtain and the heavier interior curtain, made of woven camel's hair.

The tent was well-light with lanterns, and numerous cushions and pillows filled in the gaps between the tent walls and the carpet-lined cobblestone street. Every member of the caravan sat around the perimeter of the tent. Afzal entered, crossed the space, and sat cross-legged at one end of the tent. Boru followed after him, sitting with his legs crossed across from the caravan master. Their servants sat behind them to the right, nearby in case the deal went bad. Afzal pressed a hand to his heart and leaned forward slightly.

"An honour to have our Great king visit." He spoke slowly, deliberately. "Coffee?" He gestured to a small silver pot sat on a table nearby.

"No, thank you." Boru knew that a drink of some kind would be offered him until he accepted.

"Tea, perhaps? We just got a new stock of fresh Rize tea." Afzal smiled and raised his eyebrows.

"Tea would be lovely, thank you."

Afzal clicked his fingers, and a boy got up, poured a reddish drink into a narrow-waisted glass, placed it on a white china saucer, and handed it to the king.

"Thank you."

The boy bowed and returned to his place against the tent wall.

"And for your servant...we have arak." Another click of fingers, another boy up, this one with a glass and a decanter of what looked like water. The liquid was poured into the glass and handed to Rogelio. "Wait, there's more." Afzal stopped the servant from drinking. "Boy!"

Lark was up now, with a small cup of cool water, which he poured into Rogelio's cup, turning the alcohol milky-white. The boy shivered. He could _feel_ Dobhán's leering gaze on him.

"Wow!" The servant exclaimed, fascinated by what had just happened. He tipped his glass back and emptied the cup.

Lark sat without a word. Now he could feel the king's eyes on him. He remembered the first time they had seen each other, during the last winter moon, when the caravan had put on a show to make more money. He had been dressed as a woman; because of his age he had been deemed "worthy" enough to take a woman's part. Not too old, like the men whose beards and wrinkles would kill the humour of the thing, and not too young, like the younger boys, who couldn't take it seriously enough. It was small, lithe Lark who was chosen to take the woman's role. Dressed in the finest silks the caravan had, his hair down, with golden earrings that bit painfully into his unpierced lobes, he had been walking from the capital's square to the caravan, when he stopped, suddenly aware that he was being watched. He had turned, and there had stood Boru, transfixed by the beauty stood before him. Lark's first thought was that all the stories of the king were true: he _was_ as tall as a date palm, and his hair _was_ curlier than a goat's. Lark had both bowed and curtsied, he remembered that very clearly, and took off for the tent as quickly as he could.

Lark blinked, and felt the atmosphere in the tent change. Cups were empty, formalities done away with. Rogelio had his hand on the hilt of one of his knives, his eyebrows knit together, and he was squinting badly.

Silence. Long enough for a heartbeat. Long enough for the desert to draw breath.

Then the king spoke: "I want the boy."

The words came as a shock to the tent, and suddenly all eyes were on Lark.

"Surely not, Your Greatness. There are other boys, _Avarian_ boys..." The caravan master protested.

The king inclined his head to one side, his eyes suddenly dark. "I can pay for him. Or I can take him from you. The choice is yours."

A sound like 'touch' escaped the older man's mouth. "What are you willing to pay?"

"500 in silver coins."

Afzal stuck out his hand. "Deal."

The king shook the caravan master's hand, and Rogelio poured out the coins from a purse on his hip. Afzal stood and went to Lark.

"Your bond is ended. You are free."

Lark could hardly believe his ears. Free. No more debt, no bride-wealth to pay. A free man.

He stood, following Boru and Rogelio from the tent. Except that he was so shocked, he wasn't really sure if it was him who was moving. Some part of him still felt he was back in the tent, even as he walked to where Boru's chestnut mare stood. There he stopped, unsure of what to do.

The king noticed. "Never been on a horse, Lark?"

Lark's jaw dropped. "You know my name."

The king chuckled and smiled, and Lark could have sworn the sun shone a little brighter. "Yes, I know your name.” He turned to his servant. “Rogelio, help Lark up."

"But I just--" The servant began protesting, but Boru sought him a look, and Rogelio dismounted his little grey pony and knelt next to Lark, his hands cupped to boost the boy up. Lark got one leg awkwardly over the animal, then slid into place, just before the saddle. Boru mounted his horse and practically pulled Lark into his lap. Heat rose up on the boy's face as a twinge of fear hit him.

"Are you all right?" Boru asked, noticing Lark's reaction as they started for the palace.

"Y-yes." Lark stammered, trying to remain level-headed, trying not to remember _that night_ , when-- No! It hurt too much to think about it, especially when he had just escaped. Maybe he could talk about it when the time was right, or when the opportunity presented itself.

The remainder of the ride was quiet, with only the song of overhead finches breaking the silence. Finally, the riders passed through a gate adorned with a crab and stopped at the royal stables, where Boru dismounted and helped Lark down.

"I want you to have something." The king said, his hand going to the nape of his neck to remove the silver necklace he wore. "Here." He clasped the necklace around Lark's neck. "This is your's now. It was given to me when I went to Niada some years ago."

Lark smiled up at the king. "I was supposed to be educated in Niada." He shared, a little bit of his past coming back to him.

Boru looked surprised. "Would you could have gone. It's a beautiful land." He gave the reins of his horse to a stable hand and started for the palace. “Come.” He beckoned Lark. “Follow me.”

Through the palace they went, winding and twisting their way through, until they stopped at an ornately carved door. “This is your room.” The king smiled and opened the door.

Lark stepped into the room after him, amazed. The room was all carved out of white stone, with delicate fabrics draped over handcrafted chairs and couches. A cushioned window seat immediately caught his eye. "All this--" he began.

"It's all yours." Boru smiled, and Lark's stomach did somersaults again.

"Thank you." Lark moved further into the room, when his reflection in a mirror caught his eye, and he stopped. He never realised how dusty the desert had made him.

"Do you want a bath?" A soft, unfamiliar voice spoke, and Lark looked up. 


	3. The Wedding Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are loved and replied to! Let me know what you think!

Iago smiled at the boy, who—with his long black hair, worn tunic, and old trousers—looked so out of place among the immaculate trappings of the harem. He bowed, his long brown hair nearly sweeping into his grey eyes. "I'm Iago, the harem's eunuch." He introduced himself, straightening up.

"Eunuch?" The boy repeated, a quizzical look crossing his features. He was beautiful, Iago had to give him that. Covered in dust and dirt and desert sand, but beautiful nonetheless. Natural beauty that a bath could only enhance.

"It's a title. I look after the king's harem." Iago explained, then paused before asking again, "Would you like a bath?"

Lark looked at Boru, like a child looking to his father for permission. "May I?"

The king laughed, and Lark heard the most beautiful sound in his life. "You may do whatever you like. You're a free man."

Ah, yes. Freedom. That word that meant he could now do nearly whatever he wanted, yet he chose to join the king's court when the offer was made. Why? Because he needed somewhere to go, a purpose. And besides, if the king had not wanted him, he wouldn't have said so.

"I'll start the bath." Iago bowed again and left the room, grateful for the opportunity to slip away.

\---

"Tell me about yourself." Iago said, his brown hair now braided and pinned to the back of his head. His shirtsleeves were rolled up past his elbows, and he had removed his bow tie and waistcoat, knowing he'd never forgive himself if he soaked them on the boy's first bath.

"I'm not that exciting, there's really nothing to tell." The boy said.

Iago noticed he spoke with an accent and a slight lisp. The servant chuckled and opened a bottle of sweet-smelling soap, pouring some of the contents into the bath, watching as bubbles floated into the air. "Everyone has something to tell about them. Take me, for example." He stoppered the bottle and put it back on a shelf built into the wall. "My ancestors are from the same country as Rogelio's and His Greatness' ancestors. That's why we're so light-skinned, and that's where our accents come from." Iago smiled as he began washing the boy's hair in silence. "You could always start with your name." He offered, working hard to _really_ get all the dirt from the boy's scalp.

"I'm called Lark." The words came in a morose tone that told Iago not to push the subject. And then— "Are you _really_ a eunuch? Like you haven't got any—"

Iago burst out laughing. "Oh, no! No, no, I'm married and have three children." He smiled as he rinsed the soap from Lark's hair. "It's just a title, like the one His Greatness uses."

Lark nodded, smiling at the gentle way Iago washed his hair. He had never been treated like this, with this much respect and dignity. He suddenly felt little tugs on his head, and realised that Iago was braiding his hair.

\---

"What should I wear?" Lark asked, now stood in his shift, before a couch decked with more clothes than he had ever seen in his life. Even more clothes than the capital bazaar, and that was just on one couch!

"Well, His Greatness will be wearing the royal colours: dark blue, silver, and white. So, perhaps this." Iago gestured to a coral-coloured dress with gold accents.

\---

"Do you think he'll like it?" Boru asked, for the fourth time that hour.

Rogelio suppressed a laugh. He had never the king so nervous before. But then, Boru had only been married once before, and that had been to a free-born noblewoman. This was something much different.

"I'm sure he'll love it, Your Greatness."

The king sighed. He worried too much sometimes, he knew. But everything had to be perfect for his Lark.


	4. The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear what you thought about this chapter. Leave a comment!

The grounds of the palace were done up with candles in the main fountain, lanterns suspended on poles through the grounds, and rose petals strewn about one of the walkways.

Boru was in the kitchens, overseeing the finishing touches on the feast that would accompany the ceremony. The intoxicating smells of coriander, turmeric, fried fish, nutmeg, curry, mint, rice, and flatbread filled the air. The king impulsively grabbed a sprig of mint and rubbed it between his palms, a horrible nervous habit he still couldn't break.

"Do you think—" He started, then stopped himself, remembering what Rogelio had told him: "If you start one more sentence like that, Your Greatness, I'll run off with your best chariot." When the king had protested, the blond man only shrugged. "And your best scullery maid." That had stopped Boru, at least whenever Rogelio was within earshot. There were many people the king could live without, but Saar was not one of them, no matter how much Rogelio had his eye on her.

Outside, the band had just picked up, and a motley mixture of drums, strings, and voices filled the air. The drums were skin and tin drums, the strings all sounded roughly the same to Boru, but the voices—they sang and chanted, warming up for the afterparty.

But there was one voice in particular that caught Boru's ear. He left the kitchens, following the sound, past the band and back through the palace...until he stood at the door of the harem.

Oh. So _that's_ why he was called Lark.

\---

Lark sat very still on one of the couches, now relieved of its closet duties, as Iago finished applying henna to the boy's hands and forearms. Lark had chosen white henna to match the royal colours. _His_ colours, he thought, and just the thought was enough to make him beam with pride. This morning he had been a lowly boy, a child, toying money from strangers with just a glance. Look where he was now: about to marry one of the most powerful men in the world. What caravan boy could say he had done so much in a day?!

He tried not to watch Iago as he finished, but he desperately wanted him to get on with his feet and lower legs. Lark wanted to be able to sing again, he had been singing until the henna ceremony began; then Iago had asked him not to—he didn't want to break his concentration and risk ruining the design. Lark had pouted, but agreed to remain silent. Finally, Iago moved to his feet, kneeling on the ground to accomplish the task. Lark bit his lip, trying not to laugh or squirm while Iago applied the paste to his ticklish feet. He took the opportunity to glance down, and stopped himself from gasping. He chose a lace design mixed with traditional Avarian elements: the sundusk rose, which only bloomed once every 45 years, and phoenix feathers, symbolizing good luck and a prosperous marriage. Lark smiled at hands, turning them palm-up to look more closely at the design. He always believed the phoenix to be an auspicious bird, his mother had told him such when he was small. That's why she had named him what she had, for he had been born under the sign of the phoenix. Lark shook his head, it was a silly name, really. _Farkhozad_. _Auspiciously born_.

"There, you're done." Iago announced, pulling Lark from his thoughts. "I can do your makeup while we wait for it to set." He sat next to Lark, and reached for a tube of kohl laying nearby.

"I can do it, Iago, you need to get ready!" Lark protested, and made a grab for the glass tube, but Iago was quicker. "You'll ruin the henna. Don't worry about me, I can get ready later. This is your day. Besides, you take the longest getting ready anyway." Iago teased, grinning, showing the gap between his front teeth. The difference a few hours made! Lark barely spoke to him when they first met. Now, three hours later, after discussing exactly what Lark wanted done, they were fast friends.

"Alright, but you're letting me do your hair tomorrow." Lark insisted, holding still again as Iago took the cap off the tube and applied the charcoal-like pigment to his eyes.

\---

Boru looked at himself in the mirror, water dripping from his face into the porcelain basin below him. He rubbed his hands over face and set the heel of his hands over his eyes. He had to pull himself together, he was getting married in a few minutes! Wasn't _this_ what he had wanted for so long, wanted so badly he could hardly eat or sleep sometimes...It was really happening, and here he was, shut up in his room, having a breakdown over his surname! Boru removed his hands from his eyes and wiped his face with a linen towel. He could feel the anger of hundreds of Macainch ancestors upon him as he made up his mind to take Lark's name, whatever that was. He supposed he would find out in—he glanced at the sky—now! Boru ran through the palace, grabbing a veil and a beaded headband from a servant as he bolted to the grounds. Just like him to be late to his own wedding! At his spot at the alter, he put the veil on over his head and secured the headband in place, tying it around his head, further obscuring his vision by the long strands of beads that hung down to his sternum. Now he couldn't even seen his silver curly-toed shoes, and a wave of disappointment washed over him as the band began to play an upbeat tune.

The waiting was the worst part, waiting for the footsteps of the bride to reach him. His first wedding hadn't had nearly this much secrecy: he and Ina had been married in the afternoon by the royal priest, with thousands in attendance, and lavish gifts had come in from every place imaginable. This wedding, however, was in the pitch of night, under cover of dark, with only candles and lanterns to light their way. A local priest was marrying them, and even if the old man had had the eyesight and hearing of his former days, Lark would be wearing a dress and makeup, to fool anyone who dared look into the palace that night. To further complicate things, someone (Rogelio) had come up with the bright idea of **both** grooms being veiled.

Boru has about to begin thinking about astronomy when he heard footsteps. Iago's footsteps, from the sound of them. Which meant he was leading—

\---

Lark had to rely completely on Iago to know where to go. Not only was the palace completely unfamiliar, but the boy wore three veils, which even he thought was a _little_ excessive, even if one of them was a traditional half-veil. The other two were to further obscure his identity, in case the priest got any ideas. Finally, after what seemed like ages, he heard the sound of his shoes hitting stone, then grass, then he knew he was at the altar. Iago detached himself from Lark's arm and stood nearby as the priest began the ceremony.

"Do you, Boru Hallam Macainch, take this woman to be your wife?"

Boru could hear Iago and Rogelio snickering behind them. "I do."

"And do you, Farkohzad Mithra, take this man to be your husband."

Lark desperately wished he could see Boru's face. "I do."

"Then I pronounce you married!" The priest exclaimed, effectively releasing them from their veil prisons, as Boru untied the headband and pulled the fabric from his head, releasing his curls. Lark removed his first veil, then the half-veil, and pulled the end of his dress down from around his head so he could take off his third veil. Boru closed the space between them with a single step, took Lark's face in his hands, and kissed him. Lark wrapped his arms around Boru's shoulders and kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sundusk rose is based on the Freddie Mercury rose!


	5. The Wedding Night

Boru beamed at Lark.

They were sat in the king's chambers, which, as magnificent and grand as the harem was, were even more impressive. For one thing, the chambers were the complete opposite of the harem; where the harem was light with big, open windows, and furniture done in lighter colours, the chambers seemed darker, more closed off, all in dark colours. The windows were all done in a stone latticework, and all the furniture was made of a solid, dark wood that had to been imported, Lark could tell as much. He glanced nervously at the bed, specially built, because no one was as tall as Boru. The frame was made of solid, dark brown wood, and the bedcover was a beautiful deep midnight blue. It looked like velvet, but Lark had no burning desire to find out tonight. He mostly just wanted to spend time with his husband.

 _His_ _husband_. The words made his heart flutter. Lark grabbed a piece of flatbread from the silver tray between them and tore it into pieces, his bracelets all jangling against each other as he dipped some of the bread into a dish of hot peppercorn sauce and ate them.

Boru reached out and took Lark's hand in his, his silver band shining in the candlelight, contrasted against Lark's smaller gold and chalcedony ring.

Neither one spoke a word as they ate. Lark noticed there wasn't much meat on the menu, only a spice-covered fish and a small side of lamb, though he had eaten the lamb. Boru hadn't taken much, only a handful—a literal handful, as they both ate with their hands—of rice and a small bit of the fish. Lark smiled at him and squeezed his hand gently, then leaned forward and placed half his bread in his husband's dish. A blush rose high in Boru's cheeks, and he cupped Lark's cheeks in his hands, kissing him for the second time that night.

Lark felt a warm heat rise and settle in his belly as Boru kept pressing his soft lips to his. Boru's eyes were closed, Lark thought, and laughed in his heart. One kiss blurred into another, it seemed. Boru's hand was no longer gripping Lark's, now it was on the boy's thigh, inching ever closer—

"No!" Lark broke away and moved further into the room.

Boru, heady with love, opened his eyes and realised that his husband was on the other side of the room, stood staring out one of the windows. Boru stood, stepping around the tray of food. He went to his husband, trying to take Lark into his arms, but he moved out of the way. "Lark?" Boru asked, hurt in his voice and on his face.

"I-I'm sorry. I was caught off-guard, and I overreacted." Lark moved into his husband's arms, loving the feeling of being held by him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Boru asked, lifting Lark's chin so their eyes met. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Yes..." Lark started, and then finished, "and no. I know it would be good for me, but—"

"You're scared." Boru finished, and Lark nodded.

"Yes."

Boru was stroking Lark's cheek now, and Lark loved that, leaning into his touch. "You tell me when you're ready. There's no pressure." Boru pressed a kiss to Lark's forehead. "Don't worry about tonight." He whispered against Lark's skin. "We'll move at your pace."

Lark smiled. _Was this what freedom really was? A loving husband, a best friend, not a care in the world?_ he wondered. He wouldn't have any royal responsibilities until the morning, he was grateful. And he slept that night as peaceful as a dove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love this AU, and I really don't want to abandon it, but...plot and world building! take so much braining! So leave a comment to help fuel my braining!


	6. The Reveal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a doozy to write, and it deals with some heavy stuff...this is where that "past attempted rape" tag comes into play. Feel free to skip to the asterisks!

Boru had awoken before his husband, washed, dressed, and was about to depart for the throne room when he turned back to the bed.

Lark was still asleep, curled up on his side, his long black hair fanned out, crown-like around his head, smiling despite the sun. Boru smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I love you." He whispered, and then he was away.

\---

Lark woke up a few hours later to an empty bed. He frowned, and was about to get up and find out just _where_ he was, when he heard the chamber doors open, and saw Iago poke his head in.

"Oh good, you're awake." His friend said, and moved closer to the bed. "You've got a big day ahead of you. It's your coronation." Iago smiled. "Your reveal to the public."

"Yes, and as excited as I am for that, I would like to know where my husband is?" Lark finally managed, desperately needing Boru's guidance at a time like this.

"His Greatness is working. We can see him after you're dressed."

Lark sighed. He supposed he would have to get used to a new set of rules, those of a royal schedule.

\---

Boru was crossing to the other side of the packed throne room, when something out of one of the far windows caught his attention. He quickened his pace, swearing under his breath as he moved past his people, his dark blue coat was stiflingly hot, making the summer heat even more unbearable. His gold circlet dug into his forehead; because of the volume and bounce of his hair, the king was forced to wear the circlet on his forehead. He was closer to the window now, nearly about to peer outside when—

"Your Greatness." Came the sweetest voice in existence.

The whole of Avaria turned with Boru, and the sight of Lark stood at the doorway made his jaw drop.

Lark approached him, slowly, still getting used to the idea of _shoes_. His were white leather, matching the white trousers he wore under an asymmetrically-cut tunic the colour of the summer sun. What was the name of the shade? Iago had told him. Now it came back to him: jonquil.

The boy took the king's hand in his as they walked to the thrones at the end of the room. Lark couldn't help but smirk a little; it was very scandalous, showing him off like this. They approached the thrones, and Lark knelt before his husband, who placed his hands on Lark's head and said some words in a language Lark had never heard before. Then Boru took a silver diadem from a servant and placed it on Lark's head. Lark beamed up at his husband, who raised him from the ground and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boru's outfit is based on this guy without the poofy trousers, and Lark's is based on this guys with white trousers and white shoes.


End file.
